I look at the time on the VCR and sigh—it's after ten. Ross is never going to leave.

I look over at him; he's sitting in my arm chair, staring at the TV, for once keeping his mouth shut about my choice of entertainment.

I look down at Chandler, who's sitting on the floor next to the couch, near me as I sprawl out, but not in an obvious way. We've been waiting hours for everyone to just go away and give us some privacy. Joey, naturally, is on a date; Phoebe finally went home about an hour ago, and I tried to convince Ross to be a gentleman and go with her, he didn't seem interested. Not that Phoebe needs protecting. Rachel is…at some sort of work thing. I stopped listening when I heard her say she was going to be gone for most of the evening.

Unfortunately, Ross seems to feel the need to hang out in my apartment while Chandler's here in some sort of act of solidarity, as if leaving him to hang out with just me is a fate worse than death. Like we weren't doing that for years before we started to date each other.

My life hasn't been the same since my brother moved in across the hall.

Or rather, my sex life hasn't been the same. We've had to go back to mostly sneaking around, even at Chandler's place. It's just absolutely thrilling trying to sneak past my brother as he sleeps on his best friend's couch.

Not that I begrudge Chandler and Joey in the slightest for letting Ross move in with them for a while; it was incredibly sweet and kind of them to help out a friend. I just always forget what a pain in the ass Ross can be in such close quarters. Within a day he was driving Chandler up a wall with his humidifier and telling the guys to keep it down constantly. All I could do was listen sympathetically while he complained; Ross has never been easy to live with. How Chandler managed it for four years in college is still beyond me.

What's worse is that it's been weeks and Ross doesn't seem to be motivated at all to move out. In fact, he seems to be enjoying the company and the bachelor pad atmosphere.

Meanwhile, my libido is in tears.

Chandler's not doing much better.

Any opportunity that presents itself for us to be alone, we grab at it with both hands, even if it's just something like grocery shopping.

I suppose it'd be easier to just come clean with our friends but we're just not ready for the sort of barrage of questions that are sure to follow. Being able to be with Chandler without constantly being questioned about where he took me, what we did, how's it going…it's magical. Every single detail of Ross and Rachel's relationship was public knowledge, and I don't know that they were better for it. We were all too nosey and too involved; they had very little time that was just them.

I think that's what's been making me and Chandler work so well, though—we just get to be together, to get to know each other in this intimate, wonderful way without being under a microscope and without our friends pressuring us for answers about where we are with our relationship.

I turn my attention back to the TV, trying to look wildly engrossed in Gilligan's Island, hoping Ross will get bored watching old sitcoms and just go away.

Ross sighs and looks over at me, his face mopey.

"What?" I ask, irritation already crawling through me.

"Do we have to watch this?"

I try to count to ten before answering him—I only get to about four. "Ross—this is my apartment. This is what I want to watch. If you don't like it, you're free to leave. Chandler and Joey have a TV, too, as you recall."

"But no one's over there," he says in a small voice.

I blink at him; I see Chandler turn his face to Ross, too, and judging by his profile, he looks just as nonplussed as I feel. "Just to make sure I'm clear on this, you want me to change the channel on my TV to some documentary that you and only you want to watch because you don't want to go watch it across the hall by yourself, even though if you somehow managed to convince me to change the channel, I would get up and leave, and Chandler wouldn't be that far behind?"

He turns back to the TV, looking terribly put out. "Fine."

"Dude, seriously," Chandler says. "Go watch TV at my place. Or, you know, if you really want to get crazy, go find your own place."

Ross clears his throat and stands. "You know what? I think I'll go watch TV across the hall. Maybe I'll turn in early."

"You do that," I tell him, rolling my eyes, feeling my heart start to pound in anticipation of being alone with Chandler.

He gets to the door and pauses, looking back at us. "Dude, aren't you coming?"

Chandler looks over his shoulder at him, lifting an eyebrow. "Nah. I'm gonna stay here for a while and abuse Monica for a while."

I keep my eyes trained on the TV, his meaning glaringly obvious to me, hoping Ross won't question it.

"You're weird," he finally says, and I hear my apartment door opening and closing. I hold my breath until I hear the door across the hall do the same; I stretch off the end of the couch as Chandler turns to me, our lips meeting frantically.

"I thought he was never going to leave," he mumbles into my mouth, turning around and kneeling so he can reach me better.

"When is he moving out?" I whisper, tugging at him so that his top half is pressed into mine on the couch.

"Never," he groans, pulling his lips from mine. "I'm trying to be supportive, Mon, but he won't even look for a new place. It's like he doesn't even care if he finds a place."

I roll my eyes, stroking Chandler's hair consolingly. "He probably thinks you guys are having a great time, like it's college again."

"And you know, for the most part, it really isn't that bad. I know he's going through a tough time, and it's not terrible having him around, but when he gets in one of those sulky moods…"

I nod, understanding exactly what he means. "I know. He can be impossible." I give his arm a tug and he slides on top of me. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Yes, please," he whispers, grinning, kissing me once again. I shift a little, bending my knee so that he fits against me more comfortably. I feel his fingers at the edge of my shirt for a moment before his hand slides up my stomach. I feel him playing with the edge of my bra before he moves it aside, his fingers grasping me gently.

This feels like something out of high school—groping each other on the couch, hoping no one walks in on you.

At least, this is what I imagine it was like in high school. Didn't have much experience with that part.

His lips move to my neck, his body moving gently against mine, and I smile, running my hands down his back, my fingers tracing lines in the skin at the waistband of his pants.

"What time is Rachel going to be back?" he asks, his voice muffled.

"Mmmmmmm no idea. She said probably late."

He looks up at me and smiles. "So we have some time."

"A little bit," I answer, brushing the hair off his forehead. "What did you have in mind?"

"Stuff," he says, shifting his hips against me, his erection already pressing into me.

"Oh, stuff. Thanks for clearing that up."

"Shut up," he tells me, his lips finding mine again.

"I forgot my magazine."

My eyes fly open as I hear Ross's voice, having missed the door opening. I push at Chandler as he rolls off of me, landing on the floor. He flies into a sitting position, bending his knees to hide his arousal, taking deep breaths. I turn quickly onto my side, tugging my shirt down, running a hand through my hair, hoping like hell I don't look as turned on as I feel.

Ross appears next to me, rifling through the magazines on the end table. I look up at him for a moment, trying to feign interest before turning my attention back to the TV, my heart hammering in my chest. I'm pretty sure he didn't see anything; I would suspect he'd have a hissy fit of some sort if he'd caught us.

He moves over to the chair, finally pulling the magazine out from behind one of the pillows, flipping through the pages, and I feel my blood start to boil. I look down at Chandler and see he's actually shaking, and I'm pretty sure it's a combination of arousal and anger.

"You sure you want to stay over here, man?" Ross asks, still distracted by the pages in front of him.

"I think I'll pass on the dinosaur documentary, thanks." I'm sure Ross can't tell, but Chandler's voice is tight, barely under control.

"Suit yourself," Ross says, shrugging, turning to leave the apartment once again.

"'Night," I call out as the door shuts behind him. Chandler turns to look at me again, his nostrils flaring. "That was close," I whisper.

He leans forward and kisses me gently and I stand up, going to lock the door. "Won't Rachel think something's up?" he calls after me.

"We usually lock the door at night; I've just been leaving it open for you. If nothing else, I'll tell her Ross kept bugging me and I wanted to keep him out. She'll get that." I go sit on the couch again, reclining against the arm. "So what sort of 'stuff' were you thinking about?"

He slides his hand gently up my leg, tickling me through my jeans. "No foreplay?"

"Honey, we don't know what time Rachel will be home or if Ross will decide to come back over—I'd much rather skip the foreplay and go right to sex."

"Foreplay is one of the best parts."

I run my fingers through his hair affectionately. "And you're really good at it. Really, really good. But the clock's ticking."

He leans up and kisses me, hauling his body onto the couch, kneeling in front of me. "Can I just ask you one thing before we start ripping off our clothes?"

"What's that?"

He softly traces a finger down my face, smiling at me gently. "Call me 'honey' again."

My breath catches in my throat and I feel my eyes go wide. "What?"

"You just called me 'honey'. You've been doing that on and off for a while now."

I knew I'd done it once or twice during our more intimate moments, but I didn't realize it was becoming a regular thing with me. I think I'm beginning to panic. "Uhhhh…umm…"

"You okay, Mon?"

I nod, trying to swallow around the lump in my throat. "You're okay with me calling you that?"

He slowly settles his body against mine, wrapping his arms around me. "Oh, yeah. I like it."

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine, kissing him fiercely. Maybe it's not the biggest of deals, but it feels like a new form of intimacy. Terms of endearment feels bigger than seeing each other naked.

"Out of curiosity," I say in between kisses. "How often do I call you that?"

He shrugs, his hands sliding under my shirt again. "I haven't really kept track. Usually when we're alone together, though, you drop it every few minutes."

I can't help but feel a little mortified—shouldn't I notice that I'm calling him something else?

"Don't be embarrassed. I promise—I like it."

"You call me 'babe', you know," I blurt out, feeling as if I should try to level the playing field.

Instead of looking embarrassed, he just grins at me, giving me a quick kiss. "Do I? Maybe it's because you are a babe."

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "You're so cheesy."

"That's me; cheesy Honey."

"Just…take off your clothes."

"You really know how to romance a guy, you know that, right?" he asks, pulling his shirt over his head regardless.

"I don't have to know how to romance anyway—I'm a babe, aren't I?"

He pulls my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor next to us. "Touché." He looks down at my breasts longingly, actually licking his lips a little.

I sigh, trying to fight back my grin, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. "Fine."

He pulls the bra out of his way, dropping his mouth to a breast, his free hand going to the other. Limited time or not, it's hard to say no to someone who wants to worship your boobs.

He moves his mouth the other one, moving his hands to the button of my jeans, unzipping the fly, his fingers disappearing inside the edge of my panties.

So much for no foreplay.

He is right, though—this part is pretty good.

I wiggle my hips, trying to slide my jeans down; he grabs the waistband and pulls with me, reluctantly releasing my breast as he leans back. I lift my legs straight in the air, his eyes widening a bit as he pulls my pants and underwear off, dropping them to the floor with the rest of my clothes. I bring my legs back down, wrapping them around his waist, pulling his mouth to mine, shivering at the way his pants feel against my naked flesh.

"Pants," I mumble around his mouth, my fingers unbuttoning them, my hands "accidently" brushing against his erection. He gasps at the contact, his forehead pressing against mine as he tries to catch his breath. I push his pants past his hips, my feet coming up to push them off the rest of the way. He shakes his leg, kicking them to the floor, and I slide my hands under the waistband of his underwear, pausing to look at him curiously.

"No boxers?"

He shrugs, pushing the underwear down his legs. "I need to do laundry."

"You know," I say, kissing him once more, "for as often as we say we're doing laundry, we might need to consider actually washing clothes once in a while."

"Maybe," he whispers, and suddenly we're skin to skin, and all other thoughts are gone. I rub myself slowly against his erection, moaning at the contact. His fingers grip into my back as he moves with me, his body shaking from trying to control himself.

I shift my hips up a little, and I can suddenly feel him at my entrance, so I move my hips down slowly, gasping as he fills me.

"God, Monica," he whispers, thrusting against me slowly, his lips moving lazily across my neck. "This isn't what I had in mind, you know?"

My brain, hazy with desire, tries to come back to earth. "What did you want to do?"

He stills his hips and I whine in protest, pushing against him. He rests his weight against my hips, stilling my movements, though he still feels incredible inside of me. "Well, feel free to say no to this because it's just a thought I had…"

I lift my eyebrow at him, waiting; his ideas have usually turned out pretty amazing.

"I've seen this in pornos."

I can't help but snort. "Of course you have."

"Laugh all you want, but I've gotten a lot our more satisfying positions from porn."

I find that hard to believe, but ask instead, "What sort of disgusting thing did you want me to do?"

He kisses me reassuringly. "It's nothing too outlandish, I promise. It's just a position I don't think we've really tried, and sitting on a couch might be the best way to do it."

I clench my inner muscles a little, partly because it feels really good, but mostly to watch him squirm. "I'm listening."

"You on my lap, facing away from me."

"Reverse cowgirl?"

"Sort of, but we'll both be sitting up. See? Told you it was nothing too dirty."

"Sounds kind of hot, though."

"It is, which is probably why they use it in porn—great for visuals. But," he adds quickly, probably as I'm making a face about the porn, "it's supposed to be phenomenal for G-spot stimulation."

He wraps his arms around me, pulling us both into a sitting position. "And you know this how?"

"I've been doing my research. I like to make you orgasm, and I want to know as many ways as I possibly can to make that happen."

I kiss him as I slide off his lap, standing beside the couch, waiting for him to get into position. "You're such a good boyfriend."

"I try," he answers, moving to the edge of the couch, planting his feet on the floor. I look at him, feeling awkward for a moment.

"How am I supposed to get on you?"

He leans back, patting the couch next to him. "Kneel here, then slide your leg over me." I follow his instructions, situating myself on his lap, feeling a little like one of the idiot women in a porno, asking how to have sex for the first time.

"Where should I put my feet?" I wasn't expecting to feel this ignorant of how to get into a sexual position, but for some reason, it's throwing me for a loop. I think he likes my confusion, though, because his hips thrust up against me as he groans.

"Wherever it's comfortable for you."

"How did you picture it?"

I feel his hands slide around my waist, skimming down my hips before settling on my thighs. "On the floor," he whispers in a strangled voice.

I drop my feet down, not quite reaching from this angle. He sits up a little, leaning forward, and my feet touch the ground. I slide my fingers up and down him gently for a few moments before I tilt my head back, whispering in his ear, "Ready?"

He nods and I lift myself up a fraction as I position, and he pushes his hips up to mine a moment later. My hands instantly reach down and grab his arms. "Oh, my God," I moan, my entire body aching from this in the best way possible. "How have we not done this before?"

"Because the basic positions seem to be working pretty well for us," he tells me as our hips meet again. "Why mess with a good thing?" His hands slide up me, grabbing my breasts, kneading them gently at first, gradually more urgently.

I lean against him, using my feet for leverage, pushing myself against him. "This is amazing," I gasp, my arms coming up to reach behind me, holding onto him.

My eyes flutter open for a moment; I notice that Gilligan's Island is still on. "I don't think I can handle the Skipper watching us do this," I tell him, and I lean forward to grab the remote. The angle changes as I do, and I almost fall off of his lap as I cry out, then sensation unbelievable. I grab the remote and turn the TV off, flinging off to the side as I brace my hands on the coffee table, pushing my hips against his. His fingers dig into my thighs, his legs almost lifting me off the floor.

"Jesus," he groans. "You're like a living fantasy, you know that?"

My head falls forward, resting on the table for just a moment as my breath comes out of me in sob-like moans. I push myself up with a grunt, wrapping an arm around his neck, bringing our lips together. His hands spread across my torso, spanning me, holding me possessively. His fingers just barely graze me and I buck against him. He strokes me a few times and I suddenly feel like I'm falling apart, pushing myself against his hand as he rubs me frantically. I moan into his mouth, trying to muffle myself, aware that my voice could travel.

His thrusts slow as I come back down; I can feel my thighs shaking and he strokes my stomach softly. He kisses the side of my face, nuzzling my ear. "You okay?"

From anyone else, that would seem unbelievably cocky, assuming that one orgasm might do me in. But this is Chandler, and Chandler knows me, he knows my body, and he really knows how it feels after I orgasm, and I'm actually pretty shaky right now.

I nod, squeezing his hand. "Yeah. That was intense."

He tightens his arms around me. "Let me know when you're ready."

"Go for it," I tell him.

"You sure?"

I shift my hips, feel his arms tense. "Yeah."

We start rocking together again, slower this time, but it feels no less fantastic. My hips come off his slowly; he thrusts into me gently. My entire body shudders. He kisses my neck, biting at the base of it and I moan a little. My eyes open a little and I look out the window, noticing I can see our reflection in the glass.

"We should do this in front of a mirror," I breathe.

He comes to a complete stop, his hands freezing on me. "What?"

I push against him insistently, needing the contact. "This. We should have sex like this in front of a mirror."

"You'd do that?" His hips move against me, the pace suddenly much faster, his body reacting to my words.

"Hell yeah, I would." It's absolutely fascinating to watch this right now—I can't see all of our bodies, but I can see our faces. I almost can't even recognize mine, but Chandler has such a look of tense concentration, such bliss, such pure joy, I don't know how to process it.

All I know is that it does something to me—something intense—and I need him now. I brace my hands on the back of the couch and start moving against him as fast as I can. He groans, his hands sliding up to my breasts once more, squeezing me, and I cry out.

"You're so amazing," he whispers, taking my earlobe between his lips, sucking at it. I shiver, pushing my hips back against him faster.

"This is definitely stimulating my G-spot," I manage to gasp out, and I feel him chuckle a little against me.

"Good—that's what I like to hear." His hands spread out across me again, his fingers digging into my flesh. I clutch the back of the couch, throwing my head back against his shoulder. His hips start pounding into me suddenly and my entire body flies to attention, everything in me tense. He holds onto my hips, keeping me in place as he moves against me, something about not being to contribute making my body feel like it's going to fall apart at any second.

He presses his forehead against my back; I can feel how tense his body is. He's on the verge; he's holding back for me, waiting for me.

Something about knowing that is what does me in; I cry out, wailing, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhh ohhhhh Gooooooooooooood," as my hands scramble around, trying to find something to hold on to, finally finding his hips as I convulse around him. He grunts a few more times as he hammers into before his arms wrap around me, pressing his mouth into my shoulder blade to muffle himself, his teeth scraping at my flesh, his body spasming violently for a few more seconds before going mostly slack, falling back against the couch, taking me with him.

We continue to undulate against each other slowly; I can feel tiny spasms coursing through his body. I wrap my arms on top of his, holding him close. He kisses the side of my face.

"Hey—is that sweat or are you crying?"

I bring my hand up to my cheek—tears. "Crying. Sorry. Don't know why."

He kisses my shoulder and pulls the blanket from the back of the couch around us. I turn my face to his and he kisses me softly, both of us still breathing heavy.

I do sort of know why I'm crying, though—all of these emotions are just too much to take sometimes. Lately, it feels like every time we have sex, it's much more than that, like there's some sort of deep, chemical bond that we're creating. I feel like he's the only person I ever want to do this with ever again. He touches me in ways that no one else ever has, and not just in a physical way. Even something as simple as looking up sexual positions that are good for me is such a deep, meaningful gesture—at least in my mind—that no other guy has ever considered doing for me.

I love him.

I love him so much it hurts. It's a good hurt, but it still hurts.

His lips move down to my neck, kissing me softly. "Would it kill the mood to ask if you'd be open to using a video camera sometime?"

I laugh loudly; I can't help it. "Yes, it would, but yes, I am open to it."

He shudders against me. "Give me another minute—just the thought of that alone will have me ready again in no time."

"Good," I answer as we kiss again, and he gives me a little squeeze, leaning his forehead against my temple, our eyes closing.

I hear the doorknob rattle and my eyes fly open, both of us jumping off the couch at the same time. I can hear Rachel on the other side of the door, mumbling to herself as she searches for her keys.

Chandler looks at me, panicked, and I start grabbing clothes. "Just go hide in my room," I hiss. He hesitates for a few seconds, his body trying to move in multiple directions at the same time, before he bolts for my bedroom.

I hear the key go into the lock and I look at the floor, grabbing my bra and Chandler's shirt, everything else already in my arms and dash across the floor into my room, Chandler grabbing me as I nearly crash into him. I see the front door start to swing open and I push the door shut as quickly as I can, only slowing just before it latches, turning the knob and pushing it shut carefully so it doesn't click.

"Mon?" I hear Rachel call from the living room, and I freeze, looking at Chandler, whose eyes are as big as saucers. I snap my fingers and point to the other side of the bed; fortunately, he takes the hint and tiptoes quickly around my bed, dropping to the floor. I yank back my blankets and slide into bed, waiting to see if Rachel will open my door or not, my heart beating wildly.

"Mon?" I hear again, this time at my door; I hold my breath.

A few seconds later, her feet shuffle away and I hear her door click shut. Chandler pokes his head up at me, his eyes still wide. I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and I see his eyes crinkle at the corners, stifling his laughter into his arm. He crawls into bed next to me a moment later, our bodies shaking with suppressed laughter, and wrap our arms around each other. I press my ear against his chest, listening to his heart beat and he kisses the top of my head.

We'll probably have to wait a little while until we're sure that Rachel's settled for the evening, but that's okay.

I think I can handle being wrapped in his arms for a little while longer.

*A/N…and this is my interpretation of how Chandler's undies wound up in the couch at the beginning of TOW Ross's Sandwich. Because why not.